


you're what keeps me believing the world's not gone dead

by empathieves



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathieves/pseuds/empathieves
Summary: Over time, Vincent learns how to feel again and Cid learns how to trust. A love story in seven parts.





	you're what keeps me believing the world's not gone dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strifescloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifescloud/gifts).



> For Strife, who is in DIRE need of Valenwind content.

* * *

**i. lit up by a machine (more than i can afford)**

 

Vincent believes that his friendship with Cid could be wholly summed up in two words: comfortable silence. They have a routine, have had one since they first began their association, and it is one that has continued despite all the various disasters and calamities that seem to befall their troupe. Vincent sits wherever Cid is working, out of the way so as not to inconvenience but indisputably present, and he thinks to himself while Cid works. It began as a mutually beneficial arrangement even if the benefits were never voiced – Vincent doesn’t have to be alone, and Cid isn’t bothered by his crewmen (who remain terrified of Vincent, despite Cid’s attempts to convince them all that the looming shadowy figure who stalks through the ship is actually a big softie).

Vincent knows where the routine began, but he doesn’t know where they are now.

He’s in his usual spot, watching Cid spot-weld a fault in some crucial piece of metal. This is nothing unusual, but the feeling – the high, swooping _feeling_ – that moves through him as the light from the blowtorch illuminates Cid’s face, making him glow, that is something very strange. He is no stranger to emotions, despite what many people would think of him, but he hasn’t felt this _specific_ one in so long that he had figured on it being gone entirely. He looks at Cid Highwind, who is still welding, cursing and doubtless getting tiny burns from the sparks that are kicking up, and he finds that spark of attraction and blows.

He is under no illusions – the chances of reciprocation are so small as to be negligible, and he does not think he could find it in himself to be a partner to anyone, even if the affection he’s feeling grows into something stronger. But he would be lying to himself if he said that he did not like the warmth, the way his hands get a little sweaty, the way his heartbeat picks up just a touch. He has been coming around to a different way of thinking in the last few years, and there is no harm in basking in the light of a good thing. He won’t say anything – there are some things that he will always keep close to his chest, and matters of the heart are certainly one of those things – but he can enjoy this nonetheless.

Cid has been a good friend to him and he knows that this is where the feeling comes from, and this too is a novelty. He has a few friends now, but none so close as Cid, and it is both surreal and completely sensical that he would come to have feelings for him. He has always been fond of strong-willed people, and of people who understand him well enough to provide him with space. He has never had preferences on gender, or even really on physicality, and Cid is attractive by anyone’s standards. He wants to examine the affection closer, and he will later in the evening, turning over the feeling in his head, but for now he wants to sit in the silence he has come to associate solely with these sojourns with Cid.

He sits in his usual spot, and watches the lights dance over his friend’s skin, and if anyone had seen him there they would have sworn he was smiling.

(and they would have been right)

 

* * *

 

**ii. you are timeless (i am a fool in love with time)**

When Cid thinks about Vincent, the first thing he thinks of is not any of the things you would immediately notice. He doesn’t think about the hair, or the way that the red of his clothes catches on the eye, the vivid hue of hearts blood. He doesn’t think of the sheer mind-bending terror he felt the first time he watched Vincent fight, because the terror turned very quickly to gratitude that the man was on their side. He doesn’t think of the way every single member of his crew still backs away from the man when he walks the halls, because he’s tried to convince them that Vincent’s not that bad and they just can’t get past how intimidating he is. He doesn’t think of Chaos or of coffins or of how menacing the metal gauntlet is.

The thing he thinks of when he thinks of Vincent is this: there was a moment, when their friendship was new and tenuous, when he’d made a shitty joke that was barely worth a laugh from his crewmen, let alone the man he’d come to think of as humourless. But he’d been on the right angle to catch the expression on Vincent’s face, and he’d seen him smile. Cid is crass, not stupid, and he’d known in that moment that he was probably fucked, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking of that smile whenever Vincent is mentioned. He’ll argue with anyone who derides Vincent in his presence, and he’ll claim friendship as the reason for his defence, but if he’s honest – and he never is – the reason is that smile. Cid is crass, not stupid, and he’s been gone on Vincent for what must be years now, and maybe that actually does make him stupid, because it’s never ended well for him before.

He’s got a close and comfortable relationship with jadedness that he’s not quite willing to give up on yet, but he feels like they’re growing apart with every day he spends with Vincent. He knows that everything is changing, even if on the surface all that’s happening is that he’s getting older and gaining more scars. He knows that there’s a softening under his skin that he can’t stop even if he’s fighting as hard as he can. He knows that there are some things he isn’t willing to risk, and that Vincent is now firmly among those things. He knows that he dreams as often as he has nightmares, and that the dreams have been of one thing and one thing only for months. He knows that sometimes, he has to remind himself that there’s a reason he doesn’t do relationships anymore, and that it’s a damn good reason with years of evidence to back him up. He knows that the last time the ship got boarded by pirates (which happens depressingly often) the first thing he’d thought of had been Vincent, which is monumentally stupid because if there’s anyone on the _Highwind_ who can handle themselves in a fight it’s him. And yet he’d felt worried anyway, and wanted to see for himself that Vincent was safe, even as he was dealing with his own situation.

When Cid thinks about Vincent, he thinks of that smile. And he knows, in his heart, that he’s vulnerable, and that all his years of hardening his heart have done nothing to stop what’s happened to him anyway. It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt even as it’s the best thing in his damn life.

 

* * *

 

 

**iii. on this dark day (in plain view)**

 

The first time Cid asks him about his scars, it’s three days out of a terrible little port where two of their crew nearly got arrested and four more got in a bar fight. Cid is in a terrible mood, glaring off into the middle distance, and Vincent knows an attempt at self-distraction when he hears one.

“You know where they’re from, Cid. I’ve told you the story.” he says, because he has, and he’s not entirely comfortable going over it again.

“I know, I know. I just…are you alright with them?” Cid asks. He refuses to make eye contact, and Vincent _knows_ there are layers to this question that he can’t discern.

“Are you comfortable with yours?” he asks.

“Most of ‘em. Some of them I got because I was being an idiot, or someone else was and I didn’t stop them. I regret those ones. Most of the time, though, they’re okay.”

“I…differ, on this. My scars are reminders of a time when I had very little control over my life, and of when I did things that I regret. They are inextricably tied to events that changed the course of my lives and many others, and not for the better. I cannot see myself ever being neutral towards them, let alone positive.”

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.”

It takes all of Vincent’s considerable self-control not to arch an eyebrow at that.

“Look, I’m not an expert on moving on from bad shit. I suck at it. But have you considered trying to look at them as, I don’t know, maybe more of a reminder that you made it? You had a fucking awful time, and I don’t want to diminish that, but you killed Hojo, you got revenge, you saved the world. I would think that if everyone else who got affected by all that can move on and not blame you, you can too.”

“…I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say to _me_ at once,” he says, and he does raise an eyebrow this time. “I’ll think on it. I appreciate that you’re trying to comfort me.”

“Don’t say it like that. I just –“

“I appreciate it, Cid. Just accept the thanks.”

“Fine. But don’t go spreading word about this, I have a reputation to maintain.”

“And I’m sure it’s well on it’s way to being tarnished, seeing as you forgot to close the door and there are three crewmen outside.”

“Ah, shit.”

He does think on it, later that night in his quarters. He said he would, and so he does. He has forgiven himself for many things, and he knows now that his sins were not the only thing that caused all the ills that have befallen Midgar. He thinks about his history, about history in general, about how Cid has his own scars and sees them as testament to survival. He wonders whether he should tell Cid that when he had gotten the scars, he had not wanted to survive. He looks down at his scars, the marks and red raised lines where the trauma of his past is clearly delineated on his skin. He thinks about Cid, and the way his voice had wavered, unsure of his words, but clearly believing them. He thinks about the way he has gained new scars since Hojo, and how he has never once thought of them in the same way as the scars from his unfortunate rebirth. He sits, and he thinks, and with hesitation he brushes his fingers over the one high on his chest, under the dip of his collarbone. For the first time in years, he focuses only on how it feels physically, on the sensation. It feels just like the rest of his skin.

 

* * *

 

**iv. i will tell them (i’m with you)**

When it happens, it happens because Cid is many things: bitter bastard, inventor, captain. But he has never been a man of restraint, and he’s loved Vincent for years now but they’re still closer now than they’ve ever been and the lack of distance is making things difficult. He watches Vincent, and it’s _distracting_ now – the way his hair falls in his eyes, the way you can only tell he’s amused most of the time by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, the way their conversations feel like playful banter half the time and how affectionate it makes him feel even when Cid feels like he’s missing the joke.

Sometimes he feels like Vincent is waiting for something. Cid looks at him, and the closing distance between them, the way there’s less of a gap every day now when they walk beside each other or talk to each other on the deck. There’s tension where there never was before; he feels like he’s twenty years younger sometimes, the same physical sensations that he felt when he was a teenager and has his first crush on someone out of his league but who he’d still get to talk to sometimes. He trips over his words occasionally – reveals parts of himself he’d thought long buried in conversations that should never have become sentimental. He feels unmoored. He feels like any minute he’s going to fuck it all up and tell Vincent how he feels, and it’s going to turn out that the tension is in his head and that Vincent _didn’t_ reciprocate, that the difference in interactions is all down to Cid crossing lines in the sand that he didn’t see for all the infatuation fogging up his head.

There is so much that he can’t read on Vincent’s face, despite the years being around each other, and there is so much that he thinks he might be _misreading_ , and he’s so damn unsure of his footing that he feels like he’s going to fall over at any moment.

So when it happens, it happens because he’s desperate for something, _anything,_ to happen – it’s because he’s been pining for years and suffering under what may well be a delusion that those feelings are returned for _months_ , and he can’t do it anymore. Inertia is something he’s never tolerated well, and if it isn’t inertia then it’s happening so slowly that it’s unnoticeable, and Cid can’t cope anymore.

They’re on the deck while the crew’s on shore leave, and Cid’s leaning up against the railing while Vincent stares out at the city below them, and there’s only two inches of space between them and all Cid’s been thinking for the last ten minutes is that it would take no effort at all to reach out and hold his hand. His bones are aching and the cold has seeped into his joints and he should have gotten back into the warmth a half hour ago, but instead he’s standing with his best friend and wishing he could hold his hand. Vincent looks down at him, then, and he’s doing that thing where he smiles with his eyes and the left corner of his mouth ticks up almost unconsciously, like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, and Cid is – overwhelmed. He loves this man, knows it like he knows this ship and the maps in his cabin, knows it like air and the wind that’s blowing past them, and this might be the worst mistake he’s ever made but he makes it anyway. He breathes in and then out, summons up the willpower that resides deep in his soul, and instead of using it to fortify all those carefully crafted defences he casts them down. He brushes their hands together, leans up and kisses the left corner of Vincent’s mouth where that stupid smile was forming, and when Vincent kisses back he has never felt so young.

 

* * *

**v. like a falling star (i fell for you)**

It is not easy, but it is simple, and Vincent has always enjoyed the challenges that come without puzzles to figure out. They are both men with histories. They are both men for whom time has not been kind, and more than once Vincent has woken from a nightmare to find Cid caught in the midst of his own. Sometimes his old scars ache, and Cid will spend time rubbing ointment into them, soothing the pain that comes when the weather is stormy and cold. He’ll tell stories, to try and distract Vincent from unbidden memories, and Vincent will listen, to try and distract Cid from worrying about Vincent’s traumas. Sometimes Cid will come to bed with burns from his hands slipping while he worked on machinery, and Vincent will hold his tongue, because Cid’s ship is his child and there are some things where his concern will be taken as censorship. Instead he places his hands on the bandaged places and draws him in, embraces him. He is still unused to physical contact – Cid is the first person he has hugged, let alone done anything else with, in many years. This, though, is becoming easier. Giving comfort is one of the many things in their relationship that Vincent thinks of as coming under that category of _not easy, but simple_. They both struggle with it, and they both do it for each other nonetheless.

He asked, one night while they were lying together, about how long Cid had felt affection for him. Cid had laughed at him, and had explained that his feelings for Vincent had been present if unacknowledged for years. There is a part of him that wants to regret that honesty on both their parts would have given them more time together; there is another that reminds him that his own feelings only arose recently, and that he would almost definitely have not been conducive to a relationship. That is another thing he struggles with, the term ‘relationship’. He doesn’t know the right word for what Cid is to him, but many of the terms he hears others use sounds woefully inaccurate at best and inadequate at worst. He hears crewmen refer to them as boyfriends, and that feels absurd – neither of them are anywhere near the age where they could be considered ‘boys’. Partners is another term he hears, which is better and yet still not right. He resigns himself to not having the language for it, and defines it by his own terms instead.

Simple, but not easy. Comfortable silences, giving and taking affection and support where it is needed. The way Cid tries to distract Vincent when he is hurting. The sharing of nightmares in a dark room at three in the morning, sleeping the rest of the night with a dim light on and lying face to face so if they wake they’ll see each other before any of the strange shadows the light can cast. Finding flowers in a vase he’s never seen before when they leave from another shore town in another country, and knowing they’re for him. Cid kissing his scars in hazy morning light, and refusing to care about where they came from. Reading when he can’t sleep and waking up with the book on the bedside table, bookmark carefully placed. The realisation that there is someone, now, who knows everything and loves him still. The realisation, at three in the morning after a nightmare, that he is not alone in this anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

**vi. i will always love you (taking it in stride)**

Sometimes, when Cid wakes up in the morning, he can’t believe that this is his life. He has always believed, after a certain point in his history, that he would be jaded and bitter for the rest of his time on the planet. That by being the way he is, he had given away his chances at happiness. That he would remain what he has always been: a failure. And now, he wakes up, and he feels the weight of someone beside him. He turns over and sees the face of the man he loves, and in the morning light he looks soft and untouched by the things in his past, and he loves him. He loves him when he is awake and laughing, he loves him when he has nightmares and Cid has to spend hours distracting him. He loves him when he’s cold and calculating and insulting someone through thin lips, he loves him when he turns quiet and angry and needs time alone, he loves him when he buys Cid things and pretends it doesn’t mean anything. He loves him, this impossible man who has decided that his time is best spent with Cid, and he may still be bitter and jaded but it’s getting harder to hate the world when the world has Vincent in it.

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be the man he could have been if everything in his life had gone well, but he’s pretty sure that man wouldn’t have met Vincent, and he’s pretty sure Vincent wouldn’t have loved that man anyway. He asks, one day, why him of all people, and Vincent had told him that there will always be a certain kinship between people who have been through awful things and lived in spite of it, _out_ of spite.

And there are times when he wishes he could have done more, done better, and then Vincent reminds him that he helped save the fucking world (without the expletives, of course), and if that’s not good enough for Cid then he’s holding himself to standards no one could ever reach.

It amuses Cid, a lot, that Vincent helps him stay positive and that he helps Vincent do the same, because everyone they know who finds out they’re together immediately assumes that so much misanthropy in a partnership would just inspire more. That they’d feed into each other’s anger and just become angrier. He doesn’t know why they think that way. It seems obvious to him that any relationship has to be founded on affection to work, and if he’s honest that’s why all of his have failed in the past, and misanthropy doesn’t tend to jive well with affection.

This is what Cid’s life is now, captaining his ship with the man he loves by his side, and every morning that he wakes up and remembers what he’s waking up to, he can’t quite believe it. But he tries.

 

* * *

 

**vii. it’s all for you (cause that’s what you do)**

 

They settle down, after a while, in a town not far from the sea. They eventually restart the space program, though under a different heading, and Cid sends off his designs to them in the hopes that he’ll be a part of it even at his age. They accept the designs, use them in a ship, and Vincent and Cid travel to Rocket Town to watch the launch. If anyone had asked Cid how he felt when he watched it he would have played it off, but Vincent knows that he cried when the launch was successful, and they’d stayed in Rocket Town for a week reminiscing so that Cid could be around for the post-launch celebrations.

Afterwards, they go back to their little town, and Vincent starts a garden. The town is nice and sleepy, quiet. They have good neighbours and when they first moved in a lovely older lady from down the road makes cookies for them and brings them over. Cid spends his days inventing, creating designs and sending them off to people who can utilise them, and on warm days they walk on the beach together and look out to the sea.

They’re still a little jaded, and neither of them will admit it to each other but they both feel so lucky that this is something possible in their lives. They’re not used to this – to being allowed to be happy, to feel safe, to feel loved.

There are still the comfortable silences. There are still the moments where it’s simple, but not easy – where the weight of their pasts seems too heavy, where they feel like they could be crushed under all that has not been said. There are still the soft mornings, the unsettled nights.

But there aren’t any battles to fight anymore, and Cid can sit outside and watch Vincent garden and help him tend to the flowers that he’s growing -  beautiful and fragrant things that he can’t remember the name of, though Vincent tells him their names and meanings sometimes, before tucking them behind his ear. It seems silly to Cid – like an indulgence he’s not allowed. But he lets it happen, because he likes the way he feels when Vincent does it, when he smiles like he genuinely has nothing to worry about.

They stand in the garden that they’ve grown from nothing, in the warm sunlight with the smell of flowers in the air, and this? This is both easy and simple. This is as easy as breathing.


End file.
